


Honey for Two

by ami_ven



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: writerverse, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 15:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: Holmes offers Watson a cup of tea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ community "writerverse" prompt "honeycomb"

My friend and companion, Sherlock Holmes, was not known for his belief in the social niceties. I flatter myself that he has always made exception for me, especially since we moved from the bustle of London and 221B Baker Street to a quiet retirement in the English countryside.

Still, I was surprised to look up from my morning paper at the sound of my name to find Holmes holding out a steaming cup of tea.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting it, and took a sip.

It was our usual blend, a plain black tea sold at the shop down in the village, and though I ordinarily took it without cream or sugar, there was a decided sweetness to its flavor.

I looked up to find Holmes regarding me expectantly. “What do you think, Watson?”

“You’ve added something, haven’t you? Something…” I took another sip, “… golden?”

He smiled. “Indeed I have, my friend. That cup contains the very first honey from my hives.”

“Really?” I asked.

Holmes had set up his beehives before we had hardly unpacked anything else. He had been an avid beekeeper ever since, out in the garden at all hours to tend and observe them. 

“I did have a small taste myself,” he admitted. “To make certain it was fit to eat. Or drink, in this case.”

“I’m honored, Holmes,” I assured him. “I know how hard you’ve been working on your hives.”

“It is the _bees_ which interest me, Watson, not their combs. I would give you all the honey my hives could spare, if I was not worried it would fatten you up terribly.”

I laughed – to others, that might have sounded rude, but I had long grown used to Holmes’s unique sense of humor.

“Ah, Sherlock,” I said, reaching to touch his wrist in a manner that had become more and more common between us since we had moved so far from society. “I’m far too much of a gentleman not to share my spoils.”

“That you are, John,” Holmes agreed.

THE END


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